Haven't done much birding recently, due to unforseen circumstances and sheer bad luck. Had a couple of days off work a week or so ago, and seized the chance to get out and about. Couldn't go far, but to be fair, I've kind of forgotten how much my local patch offers.
I've also been neglecting my duties as a volunteer for the BTO's winter thrush survey, so to salve my guilty conscience I decided to visit one of the 1km squares I had enthusiastically if naively volunteered to cover.
The field I visited has the mighty River Clyde running along one boundary, a medium sized pool, and-unfortunately- a herd of hrses from the nearby stables. The terrain is a mix of trees, bushes and grass areas, with a few well- defined but informal paths. In short, its a place I know well.
My birding luck had taken a battering, and I set out more in hope than expectation. I also took my new camera with me, just in case.
Right away, the trip was a success, both for me and as a survey. Managed to get a smallish flock of fieldfares feeding on the ground. Blackbirds flitted about between the bare tress. Smaller tits and chaffinches were inspired by the bright, mild weather and were singing lustily. One of the paths runs parallel to the river, and I started walking along it. The fieldfares moved too, keeping about 20 feet in front at all times. the river was a hive of activity, mallard as usual, but also male goosander squabbling among themselves, trying to impress a bored- looking female. A dozen or so goldeneye sat upstream where the river eddied, their bright plumage shining in the bright sunlight.
As I moved inward from the river, a grey heron flew low overhead toward the far bank. turnign to look I saw it land on an ancient brick outflow tunnel. Instantly, the black- headed gulls which had been in the trees along the riverbank mobbed the heron, which remained unmoved by the screaming swoops downward. Mallard swimming along seemed completely unperturbed by the heron, and I wondered why the gulls had reacted so badly.
All too soon, I had to leave, and make my way home. A couple of days later, as I sat in the car 25 miles away, feeling miserable at a dull, dark windswept and bird- free Clyde Estuary, I looked back at my day in the sun, and realised that I couldn't really complain about my birding week.
I hadn't seen a lot of birds, but I had seen a lot of birding life. What more can we ask for, really?
I've also been neglecting my duties as a volunteer for the BTO's winter thrush survey, so to salve my guilty conscience I decided to visit one of the 1km squares I had enthusiastically if naively volunteered to cover.
The field I visited has the mighty River Clyde running along one boundary, a medium sized pool, and-unfortunately- a herd of hrses from the nearby stables. The terrain is a mix of trees, bushes and grass areas, with a few well- defined but informal paths. In short, its a place I know well.
My birding luck had taken a battering, and I set out more in hope than expectation. I also took my new camera with me, just in case.
Right away, the trip was a success, both for me and as a survey. Managed to get a smallish flock of fieldfares feeding on the ground. Blackbirds flitted about between the bare tress. Smaller tits and chaffinches were inspired by the bright, mild weather and were singing lustily. One of the paths runs parallel to the river, and I started walking along it. The fieldfares moved too, keeping about 20 feet in front at all times. the river was a hive of activity, mallard as usual, but also male goosander squabbling among themselves, trying to impress a bored- looking female. A dozen or so goldeneye sat upstream where the river eddied, their bright plumage shining in the bright sunlight.
As I moved inward from the river, a grey heron flew low overhead toward the far bank. turnign to look I saw it land on an ancient brick outflow tunnel. Instantly, the black- headed gulls which had been in the trees along the riverbank mobbed the heron, which remained unmoved by the screaming swoops downward. Mallard swimming along seemed completely unperturbed by the heron, and I wondered why the gulls had reacted so badly.
All too soon, I had to leave, and make my way home. A couple of days later, as I sat in the car 25 miles away, feeling miserable at a dull, dark windswept and bird- free Clyde Estuary, I looked back at my day in the sun, and realised that I couldn't really complain about my birding week.
I hadn't seen a lot of birds, but I had seen a lot of birding life. What more can we ask for, really?
